once again...

i am wanting to ask my parents what I was like when I was a child. I am remembering the subtleties of a life that I am no longer surrounded by.  And It is those minute memories that haunt me rather than the big ones, as usual. The brisk saturday mornings in my father's car on the way to gymnastics practice. I did gymnastics? Now I cant even spell it. I was so bad at the high bars, I do remember that. We have photographs of my parents wedding day, and even those are enough to bring me to tears but I'm wondering about the everyday buzz of life and what it was like for them. The songs that made their hearts tender over and over, what they felt when they woke up in the morning when it was raining, how the felt about their parents and how they felt about death. My parents were so good looking in those photographs, they were so young and full of life, but there was something about them that I am still struggling to translate. Something that transcends youth, happiness, or anything else. The funny thing is ive felt more passionate about them and this than anyone else in life. 

Ephemeral Art, Eternal Idea

blueprint, instructions to bring forth an idea is the real enginuity

 to address-the parallels between art and technology, art and life, art progressing at the the same pace

the need for representation- prevailing only in idea

the power of the idea, the power of the visual?

idea being the most valuable, powerful part of the art

the studio- a place to reflect, realize ideas, then make them materialize

work that is site specific.

everyone tell their own story bit its a tale which at best will become someone elses story

observer completes the work of art- observer reacts in accordance to his own past experieces

sets